


Day 23: Rimming

by orphan_account



Series: Pieces of Abandoned OTP Porn Challenge in No Particular Order [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge, Bottom!Loki, M/M, PWP, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 17:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2317961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tony is still up to his old tricks, and turning tricks with the Trickster. …Too much? In which Tony puts his nose where it doesn’t belong, and Thor doesn’t understand sock-on-doorknob.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 23: Rimming

**Author's Note:**

> These just get longer and longer! (Ha, longer.) Nota bene: The reference herein is not to BBC’s “three-patch problem,” but, in the most hipster-y way possible, to “The Speckled Band,” and the “three-pipe problem,” upon which the BBC thing was based.

By some particularly favorable twist of fate (or particularly unfavorable, but it’s all in perspective), Tony had a Norse-god-cum-Frost-Giant face first in his pillows. 

It seemed particularly favorable to him, but, then, Tony’s always liked sex. When said sex was with possibly the most attractive person he’s ever had try to stick a figurative knife in his gut, that was just a perk of being Tony Stark.

Loki arched into Tony’s touch like he was overcoming a grudge, reluctant and eager at the same time. His flesh, cool to the touch, yielded under Tony’s fingers and tongue like Loki wasn’t completely indestructible. Every sound ripped from his throat was a small victory, and every one sounded pained, like he didn’t _want_ to like it but did. 

Which, in happy hindsight, was a microcosm of everyone who ever met Tony Stark, save, like, Steve, and Steve was _not_ the paragon of moral excellence everyone seemed to think he was, okay. Tony submitted Exhibit A, the Conveniently-Placed Chocolate Pudding Incident, for the consideration of the court.

Anyway, Loki. Loki who was groaning into Tony’s jillion-thread-count sheets, pushing his ass against Tony’s tongue like the best kind of porn. Tony laughed, low and raspy, and circled his rim with a light fingertip, prompting a curse in Norwegian. (Alright, maybe not Norwegian, but balance of probability.) He slid two fingers in now, slick with lube that smelled and tasted like Big Red gum—artificial cinnamon—and crooked them toward the mattress, and—

“ _Stark_ , I will skin everyone you love,” so yep, Tony’d found the spot. 

“Eh, they can fend for themselves,” Tony quipped back before diving right back into rimming Loki like he meant it, which he did, because of all the asses with which Tony’d been presented in his long, sordid sexual history, Loki’s was in the top ten, easy. He’d wanted his teeth in that for—how long was it now? Too long.

Loki apparently agreed, because when Tony’s teeth sank into his flesh, he _shouted_ , or maybe roared, and bucked hard, reaching back and yanking at Tony’s hair, and _that_ was nice, he should offend Loki more often. The fingers of the hand not currently knuckle-deep in Loki dug into his thigh, and if Loki were of similar ilk to Tony, they would have left marks. 

He had Loki on the edge, panting through gnashed-together teeth as Tony moved his free hand to Loki’s cock, (which, after a good (if Tony estimated right) thirty-ish minutes of teasing, was leaking enthusiastically against Loki’s stomach and onto Tony’s sheets) when an ebullient knock sounded on the door of Tony’s penthouse bedroom.

“Man of Iron!” boomed a voice through the door. “The esteemed Director requests your presence! He has bequeathed the task of escorting you to SHIELD to me, as you have cut all communications for the past half hour!”

_Of all the people,_ Tony cringed as Loki groaned, and not even in a happy way, and his spine sagged visibly, the physical embodiment of “I fucking give up.” Tony ran his fist over Loki’s still-leaking hard-on, not sure whether he meant to arouse or soothe. 

“Go away, Thor!” he called, and his voice was remarkably steady for a guy who’d had his nose buried in Thor’s little brother’s ass not fifteen seconds ago. 

Thor was the most happily oblivious person Tony’d ever had the misfortune to have knock on his door in the midst of X-rated activity. “Director Fury demands it! This is a meeting of great import!” 

_You know what, no_ , Tony resolved, and went back at Loki like he had somewhere to be once Loki was done making a thorough mess of his bed, which he kind of did, but he’d been late to SHIELD enough times that one more would surprise absolutely no one. 

Loki made a quiet little objecting noise, but yanked at Tony’s hair again, which only encouraged him to push in a third finger, threading his tongue between them wetly and making pleased noises when Loki pushed alternately back into his mouth and down into his fist, fucking himself six ways from Sunday. He was silent except for the fits and starts of his breath, and Tony knew he heard a very, _very_ quiet, “Please,” in there somewhere.

Thor was knocking again, and Tony ignored him, speeding his fingers and fist over Loki until he stiffened suddenly, a full-body shudder working its way down his spine as he came over Tony’s fingers and dripped all over his sheets, which Tony was thinking of framing after this little romp.  Tony reached into the open slacks he’d never quite gotten around to taking off, bringing himself off at a ruthless pace, Loki’s slick release easing the way as he ground his teeth together and choked out his own orgasm, his come joining Loki’s on the previously-black sheets.

“MAN OF IRON!” The God of Thunder was very insistent now, and Tony had no interest in having Mjolnir put through yet another load-bearing structure, so he replied in as non-wrecked a voice as he could muster while his fingers were still buried in Loki’s ass. 

“Give me, like, three minutes!” He pulled out his ring finger first, then carefully slipped out the other two, but Loki still gasped at the sudden lack of pressure. There was a box of wet wipes in the nightstand for just such an occasion as this, and Tony pulled out a couple—they smelled of pineapple—and cleaned himself up. It turned out to be a three-wipe problem, as Sherlock Holmes would say, but the job got done, and Tony pushed the package at Loki with a muttered, “Here, clean yourself up. Be here when I get back, yeah?” as he searched for his shirt, finding it draped over the monitor on his work desk.

When Tony looked at himself in the mirror before leaving, he _looked_ like he’d been doing his pre-meeting debauchery, but he figured that showing up looking like he’d walked out of a bodice-ripper was better than just not showing up (feasibly to rip more bodices, or the same bodice again), so he slipped out of the room, without opening the door more than absolutely necessary, and almost ran into Thor.

“Man of Iron!” Thor always sounded delighted with the world, and why couldn’t Tony do that, anyway? “Let us away to SHIELD!”

Tony decided to pretend later that he _hadn’t_ cast a longing look over his shoulder at the room where there was (probably) a buck-ass naked Norse god spread out on his soiled sheets.

Some things were best left untold, especially to their enemies. Even if said enemies were _really_ good lays.

Actually, no, _especially_ then.


End file.
